Lightning strikes Briggstown Manor again. I got the call yesterday on a young Pitbull who'd been taken in as a stray along with her new litter of pups. The owners showed up and claimed two of the younglings, and left mama and the others to die. Because they technically became owner surrendered on that day, the 72-hour clock started ticking. One of the pups was adopted, and the other one is pending. Mama wasn't as lucky. Adult Pits stand little chance of leaving a kill shelter alive, and her time was up Sunday at 0600. I went to have a look and get a "read" on her. Skinny...frightened...confused...friendly...hopeful...cold and shivering, and seemingly aware of her fate...she pressed her head into my chest and looked at me with sad eyes that seemed to say "Please! Get me out of here." Nervous and guarded at first with the rest of the pack, she started to relax last night, and she crept back to the bedroom to sleep beside the bed on my side. She's uncomfortable with me out of her sight for more than a few minutes. They know when they've gotten a reprieve. They know. They never forget it, and they remain loyal to the one who gave them the chance to prove that they're good dogs. And she is...and so are the other two. The picture doesn't show the level of emaciation. I can literally count her ribs from 30 feet, and every bony process is visible in her back, hips, and shoulders. The cure has already started. We haven't settled on a name, but she'll let us know what it's to be soon enough. Click the photo for a better look at this pretty girl.